by Sylvia Day
“You’re in New York? I thought you were on tour . . . ?”
Gideon’s rapid-fire typing didn’t slow and he didn’t look at me, but I could feel his energy shift. He was paying attention, and he knew who was on the line.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on when I see you,” Brett said.
I frowned out the window as we idled at a light, my gaze on the flood of pedestrians crossing the street. New York was teeming with life and frenetic energy, gearing up to do world-changing business. “I’m on my way to work. What’s going on, Brett?”
“I can meet you for lunch. Or after you get off for the day.”
I debated saying no, but the determination in his tone gave me pause. “Okay.”
Reaching over, I set my hand on Gideon’s thigh. The toned muscle was hard beneath my palm, even though he was at rest. The tailored suits polished his form into civility, but I knew the truth about the vigorously fit body that was only hinted at underneath. “I can see you at lunch, if we stick close to the Crossfire Building.”
“All right. What time should I be there?”
“A little before noon would be best. I’ll meet you in the lobby.”
We hung up and I dropped the phone back into my purse. Gideon’s hand captured mine. I glanced at him, but he was reading a lengthy e-mail, his head bent slightly so that the ends of his hair brushed his sculpted jaw.
The warmth of his touch soaked into me. I looked down at the band he wore on his finger, the one that told the world he belonged to me.
Did his business associates pay attention to his hands? They weren’t those of a man who pushed paper and tapped on keyboards all day. They were the hands of a fighter, a warrior who practiced mixed martial arts and pounded out his aggression with both boxing bags and sparring partners.
Kicking off my shoes, I curled my legs under me and leaned into Gideon’s side, setting my other hand on top of his. I ran my splayed fingers between his knuckles and fingers, forward and back, carefully resting my head against his shoulder so that I didn’t mess up his pristine black jacket with my makeup.
I breathed him in, feeling the effect of him—his nearness, his support—permeate my being. The smell of his soap was muted now, the naturally seductive scent of his skin altering the fragrance into something richer and more delicious.
When I was restless, he settled me.
“There’s nothing for him,” I whispered, needing him to know that. “I’m too filled with you.”
His chest expanded abruptly, his sharp inhalation audible. He pushed the tray table up and away, then patted his lap in invitation. “Come here.”
I crawled into his lap, sighing happily when he shifted me into a spot that felt made for me. Every peaceful moment we had with each other was treasured. Gideon deserved the respite, and I longed to be that for him.
His lips touched my forehead. “You okay, angel mine?”
“I’m in your arms. Life doesn’t get better than this.”
—
I spotted three paparazzi outside the Crossfire when we arrived.
With a hand at the small of my back, Gideon ushered me through the entrance ahead of him, escorting me quickly but unhurriedly into the cool lobby.
“Vultures,” I muttered.
“Can’t be helped that we’re such a photogenic couple.”
“You’re such a humble man, Gideon Cross.”
“You make me look good, Mrs. Cross.”
We stepped into the elevator with a few other people and he took the rear corner, hooking me to him with an arm around my waist, his hand pressed flat against my belly, his chest warm and hard against my back.
I savored those few minutes with him, refusing to think about work or Brett until we parted on the twentieth floor.
Megumi was already at her desk when I approached the glass security doors, and the sight of her made me smile. She’d trimmed her hair since I’d seen her Friday night and polished her nails a bright red. It was good to see the small signs that she was reclaiming her spirit.
“Hey, you,” she greeted me after buzzing me in, pushing to her feet.
“You look great.”
Her smile widened. “Thanks. How’d it go with Gideon’s sister?”
“Awesome. She’s a lot of fun. It makes me melt seeing Gideon with her.”
“He makes me melt, period. You lucky bitch. Anyway, I put a call through to your line earlier. They wanted to leave a message.”
I shifted on my feet, thinking of Brett. “Was it a guy?”
“No, a woman.”
“Hmm, I’ll go check it out, thanks.”
I headed back to my desk and got settled in, my gaze coming to rest on the collage of photos of Gideon and me. I still needed to talk to him about Crossroads. There hadn’t been a good time over the weekend. We’d had enough on our plates having Ireland over.
He hadn’t slept Saturday night. I’d hoped he would but hadn’t really expected him to. It was hard for me, thinking of his inner struggle, his worry and fear. He carried shame, too, and an inherent belief that he was broken. Damaged goods.
He didn’t see in himself what I saw—a generous soul who wanted so much to belong to something greater than himself. He didn’t recognize what a miracle he was. When he didn’t know what to do in a given situation, he let instinct and his heart take over. Despite all he’d been through, he had such an amazing capacity to feel and to love.
He’d saved me, in so many ways. I was going to do whatever needed to be done to save him, too.
—
I listened to my messages. When Mark came in, I stood, and met him with a grin and bouncing anticipation.
His brows rose. “What’s got you so excited?”
“A gal from LanCorp called this morning. They want to meet with us sometime this week to talk a bit more about what they’re hoping to achieve with the launch of the PhazeOne system.”
His dark eyes took on a familiar sparkle. He’d become a happier man overall since he and Steven had become engaged, but there was a whole different energy to him when he was eager about a new account. “You and me, kid, we’re going places.”
I hopped a little on my feet. “Yeah. You’ve got this. Once they meet with you in person, you’ll have them eating out of your hand.”
Mark laughed. “You’re good for my confidence.”
I winked at him. “I’m good for you, period.”
We spent the morning working on the PhazeOne RFP, putting together comps to better grasp how we might position the new gaming system against its competition. I had a momentary pause when I realized how much buzz surrounded the upcoming release of the next-generation GenTen console—which happened to be a product of Cross Industries, making it PhazeOne’s primary rival in the marketplace.
Pointing the situation out to Mark, I asked, “Is it going to be a problem? I mean, could LanCorp possibly see a conflict of interest with me working for you on this?”
He straightened in his chair, leaning back. He’d shucked his coat earlier but remained smartly attired in a white dress shirt, bright yellow tie, and navy slacks. “It shouldn’t be an issue, no. If our proposed positioning wins out over the other RFPs they’re collecting, the fact that you’re engaged to Gideon Cross isn’t going to make a damn bit of difference. They’re going to make their decision based on our ability to deliver their vision.”
I wanted to feel relieved, but I didn’t. If we were awarded the PhazeOne campaign, I’d be helping one of Gideon’s competitors steal some of his market share. That really bothered me. Gideon worked so hard and had overcome so much to lift the Cross name up from infamy to a level where it inspired awe, respect, and a healthy amount of fear. I never wanted to set him back, in anything.
I’d thought I would have a little more time before I was forced to make a choice. And I couldn’t help feeling like the choice to be made was between my independence and my love for my husband.
The dilemma niggled at me all morning, chipping away a
t the excitement I felt over the RFP. Then the hours crept toward noon and Brett took over my thoughts.
It was time to take responsibility for the mess I’d made. I had opened the door to Brett, and then I’d kept it open because I couldn’t get my head on straight. It was my job now to fix the problem before it impacted my marriage any more than it already had.
I headed down to the lobby at five minutes to noon, having asked permission from Mark to leave a little early. Brett was already waiting for me, standing near the entrance with his hands shoved into his jeans pockets. He wore a plain white T-shirt and sandals, with sunglasses propped atop his head.
My stride faltered a little. Not just because he was hot, which was undeniable, but because he looked so out of place in the Crossfire. When he’d met me here before the video launch in Times Square, we had rendezvoused outside. Now, he was in the building, occupying a spot too near to where I’d first run into Gideon.
The differences between the two men were stark and didn’t have anything to do with clothing or money.
Brett’s mouth curved when he saw me, his body straightening, shifting in that way men moved when their sexual interest was piqued. Other men, but not Gideon. When I’d first met my husband, his body, his voice, gave nothing away. Only his eyes had betrayed his attraction, and only for an instant.
It was later I realized what had happened in that moment.
Gideon had claimed me . . . and given himself to me in return. With a single look. He’d recognized me the moment he saw me. It took me longer to understand what we were to each other. What we were meant to be.
I couldn’t help but contrast the possessive, tender way Gideon looked at me against the earthier, lustful way Brett raked me from head to toe.
It seemed so obvious suddenly, that Brett had never really thought of me as his. Not the way Gideon did. Brett had wanted me, still did, but even when he’d had me, he hadn’t asserted any ownership and he certainly hadn’t ever given anything real of himself to me.
Gideon. My head tilted back, my gaze searching for and finding one of the many black domes in the ceiling that hid the security cameras. My hand went to my heart, pressing over it. I knew he probably wasn’t looking. I knew he’d have to deliberately access the feed in order to see me and that he was far too busy with work to think of it, but still . . .
“Eva.”
My hand dropped to my side. I looked at Brett as he approached me with the easy prowl of a man who knew his appeal and was confident of his chances.
The lobby was swarming with people flowing around us in steady streams, as one would expect in a midtown skyscraper. When his arms lifted as if to embrace me, I stepped back and held out my left hand instead, just as I had done when we last met in San Diego. I would never again cause Gideon to feel the pain I’d inflicted when he saw me kissing Brett.
Brett’s brows lifted and the heat in his eyes cooled. “Really? Is this where we’re at now?”
“I’m married,” I reminded him. “Hugging each other isn’t appropriate.”
“What about the women he’s tapped all over the tabloids? That’s okay?”
“Come on,” I chided. “You know you can’t always believe what the press feeds you.”
His lips pursed. He shoved his hands back in his pockets. “You can believe what they say about how I feel about you.”
My stomach fluttered. “I think you believe it.”
Which made me a little sad. He didn’t know what Gideon and I had, because he’d never had it. I hoped he would someday. Brett wasn’t a bad guy. He just wasn’t meant to be my guy.
Cursing under his breath, Brett turned and gestured toward the exit. “Let’s get out of here.”
I was torn. I wanted privacy, too, but I also wanted to stay where there were witnesses who could reassure Gideon. In any case, we couldn’t exactly have a picnic in the Crossfire lobby.
Reluctantly, I fell into step beside him. “I had some sandwiches delivered a little bit ago. Figured that would give us more time to talk.”
Brett nodded grimly and held out his hand for the bag I was carrying.
I took him to Bryant Park, weaving beside him through the frenetic lunchtime crowds on the sidewalks. Taxis and private cars honked insistently at the streams of pedestrians too time-strapped to obey the signals. Heat shimmered off the asphalt, the sun high enough in the sky to spear down between the towering skyscrapers. An NYPD squad car hit its siren, the piercing robotic chirps and rumbles doing little to expedite the cruiser’s movement through the clogged street.
It was Manhattan on an average day and I loved it, but I could tell Brett was frustrated by the intricate dance required to get through the city. The shifting of shoulders and hips to let people pass, the quick inhales to squeeze by too-big bags or too-slow pedestrians, the swift-footedness needed to avoid the abrupt appearance of new bodies filing out of the many doorways that lined the sidewalks. Life as usual in NYC, but I remembered how overwhelming it felt when you weren’t used to so many people occupying relatively little space.
Entering the park just behind the library, we found an unoccupied bistro table and chairs in the shade near the carousel and settled in. Brett pulled out the sandwiches, chips, and bottled water I’d ordered, but neither of us started eating. I scouted our surroundings instead, aware that we could be photographed.
I’d considered that when I chose the location, but the alternative was a noisy, crowded restaurant. I was hyperconscious of my body language, trying to ensure that nothing could be misconstrued. The world at large could think we were friends. My husband would know, in every way I could show him, that Brett and I had actually said good-bye.
“You got the wrong impression in San Diego,” Brett said abruptly, his eyes shielded behind his shades. “Brittany isn’t a serious thing.”
“It’s none of my business, Brett.”
“I miss you. Sometimes, she reminds me of you.”
I winced, finding the comment anything but flattering. I lifted one hand and gestured helplessly. “I couldn’t go back to you, Brett. Not after Gideon.”
“You say that now.”
“He makes me feel like he can’t breathe without me. I couldn’t settle for less.” I didn’t need to say that Brett had never made me feel like that. He knew.
He stared at his steepled fingertips, then straightened abruptly and dug his wallet out of his back pocket. He pulled a folded photograph out and set it on the table in front of me.
“Look at that,” he said tightly, “and tell me we didn’t have something real.”
I picked up the photo and spread it open, frowning at the image. It was a candid shot of Brett and me, laughing together over something lost to memory. I recognized the interior of Pete’s in the background. There was a crowd of blurred faces around us.
“Where did you get this?” I asked. There’d been a time when I would’ve given anything to have an unposed photo with Brett, believing that such an insubstantial thing would give me some kind of proof that I was more than a piece of ass.
“Sam took that after one of our sets.”
I stiffened at the mention of Sam Yimara, abruptly reminded of the sex tape. I looked at Brett, my hands shaking so hard I had to put the photo down. “Do you know about . . . ?”
I couldn’t even finish the sentence. Turned out, it wasn’t necessary for me to.
Brett’s jaw tensed, his forehead and upper lip beaded with sweat from the summer heat. He nodded. “I’ve seen it.”
“Oh my God.” I recoiled from the table, my mind filled with all the possibilities of what was captured on video. I had been desperate to win Brett’s attention, with a complete lack of self-respect that shamed me now.
“Eva.” He reached for me. “It’s not what you think. Whatever Cross told you about the video, I promise it isn’t bad. A little raw sometimes, but that’s the way it was between us.”
No . . . Raw was what I had with Gideon. What I’d had with Brett was something much dar
ker and unhealthy.
I clasped my trembling hands together. “How many people have seen it? Have you shown it to— Has the band watched it?”
He didn’t have to answer; I saw it on his face.
“Jesus.” I felt sick. “What do you want from me, Brett?”
“I want—” Shoving up his sunglasses, he rubbed at his eyes. “Hell. I want you. I want us to be together. I don’t think we’re over yet.”
“We never got started.”
“I know that’s my fault. I want you to give me a chance to fix it.”
I gaped. “I’m married!”
“He’s no good, Eva. You don’t know him like you think you do.”
My legs quivered with the urge to get up and leave. “I know he’d never show footage of us to anyone! He respects me too much.”
“The whole point was to document the rise of the band, Eva. We had to sort through it all.”
“You could’ve watched it alone first,” I said tightly, horribly aware of the people sitting not too far away. “You could’ve cut us out before the others saw it.”
“We’re not the only ones Sam got on video. The other guys had stuff, too.”
“Oh God.” I watched as he shifted restlessly. Suspicion bloomed. “And there were other girls with you,” I guessed, my nausea worsening. “What did it matter when I was just one of many.”
“It mattered.” He leaned forward. “It was different with you, Eva. I was different with you. I was just too young and full of myself to appreciate it at the time. You need to see, Eva. Then you’ll understand.”
I shook my head violently. “I don’t want to see it. Ever. Are you crazy?”
That was a lie. What was in the video? How bad was it?
“Goddamn it.” He yanked off his shades, throwing them on the table. “I didn’t want to talk about the fucking video.”
But there was a defensiveness to his posture that made me doubt him. His shoulders were high and tight, his mouth a hard line.
Whatever Cross told you . . .
He knew Gideon was aware of the tape. He had to know Gideon was fighting to keep it buried. Sam would’ve told him.
“What do you want?” I asked again. “What was so damned urgent you had to come out to New York?”
